Seconds and Thirds
by DualWielding
Summary: Kurt wants to know what Blaine likes, but can't ask. He'll have to figure it out for himself. Sequel to 'First Glance, First Kiss'. Can be read alone. COMPLETE
1. Addiction

**A/N:** Sequel to my oneshot, _First Glance, First Kiss_. If you haven't read it, here's what you need to know. Klaine meet during summer vacation while Kurt's staying with his aunt in Westerville. Lifeguard!Kurt, Klutz!Blaine, Wingman!David. AU with a bit of OOCness (mostly Blaine).

**Rated:** M, for boys who like boys, and show the boys they like that they like boys.

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Glee. Still sad.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Addiction<strong>

They say the first step toward a cure is admitting you have a problem. But what if you don't want to be cured?

_Hello. My name is Kurt Hummel and I'm a kissaholic._

_Actually, no. I'm a Blaineaholic._

_...I'm a Blaineakissaholic._

How did this happen? Before he came to Westerville, Kurt's life was fine.

Well, fine was a strong word, but it was good enough. Sort of.

He was well dressed. He'd just leave it at that.

Anyway, his 'good enough' days were over now, because Kurt had a boyfriend. A kind, witty, modest, HOT boyfriend. Seriously. Oodles of hotness all up in there. Kurt might be biased, but he thought many people would agree. And if not, they probably hadn't taken a good look at Blaine's arms.

But, more amazing than his boyfriend's lovely biceps, dashing good looks, and general superiority in every measurable attribute, was how much Kurt _loved_ making out with him. He craved it. Daydreamed about it. Planned his free time around it. It was like... well, like an addiction.

Who knew it could be so wonderful to have another person's tongue in your mouth? Probably a lot of people, but no one told _him_! Still, he'd been curious. In the past, alone in his room, protected by darkness, he'd been curious enough to try it. But the non-responsive, albeit tender crook of his elbow couldn't have prepared him for the magic of Blaine's mouth. However, in all fairness to his arm, nothing else could have either.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

Kurt's thumb stroked back and forth over his lips while he drowsily replayed their latest date in his head, slowing down, zooming in and expanding on his favorite parts. It was the same every night now; drifting to to sleep to thoughts of his boyfriend. And gentle, languid kisses on replay.

His thumbly activities were interrupted by a soft buzzing from his phone and the delighted boy grabbed it eagerly. Blaine's parents had carted him off to visit relatives for the weekend and Kurt hadn't seen him since yesterday. _Yesterday!_

Blaine: _Hi. You up?_

Kurt: _Yes. Can you call?_

The chorus of Adele's 'One and Only' began playing a few seconds later. "Hi." Kurt was sure his smile could be heard loud and clear.

"Hi." Blaine's deep sigh gave Kurt instant goosebumps. "I really missed you today."

The low, quiet timbre of his voice shivered down Kurt's already goosepimply body. "I missed you too." His breathy reply was followed by a soft moan and, on the other end, a strangled gasp. "Blaine? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." The suddenly awkward, high-pitched tone made Kurt frown in concern, and not a little disappointment. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I wasn't asleep." Kurt held the phone closer, wanting the shiver-inducer back. Shivers felt surprisingly nice. He imagined Blaine's mouth close to his ear, as if they were snuggled in bed, talking quietly like couples do before they fall asleep. Snuggle, talk, sleep. That's what happy couples do in bed. "Are you having a good visit with your family?"

"Not bad." Kurt could almost feel him relax into the safe topic. "We had a cookout today with the extended family. Gave me a chance to catch up with my favorite cousin, Emily. I told her about you."

"What did you tell her?" Kurt's restless thumb absently stroked the phone.

"I told her how wonderful you are, and I showed her pictures. She asked if you have a straight twin," Blaine said, making Kurt laugh merrily. "She was very disappointed to hear you're an only child."

"Could I interest her in a slightly goofy step-brother?" Kurt asked, only half-joking. "He's tall."

"Somehow I doubt it." Blaine chuckled. Kurt shivered.

"Will I see you tomorrow night?" The goosepimply boy asked, already planning their next makeout session.

"We'll get home around 7:00. Can I pick you up at 7:30?"

"Definitely," said Kurt.

"Do you want to go to dinner? Or a movie?"

"Not really."

"Would you rather go somewhere quiet and– uh– talk?"

Sweet, sweet Blaine. Always so careful not to push. Kurt wanted more than ever to make his boyfriend's toes curl. "I'd like that." Kurt knew exactly what he'd like. "Somewhere we can be alone."

"Okay." Blaine's answer was strained. It made Kurt ache to hold him and kiss his worries away. "What– what were you doing before I called?" he asked hesitantly.

Kurt's gentle smile would have been comforting, if only his boyfriend could have seen it. He still imagined Blaine next to him; could almost feel the warm breath in his ear with every word. "I was in bed, thinking about you." His mind drifted back to the daydream, where lips met and tongues slowly traced each other's mouths. "Blaine," he whispered to his dream kisser.

He was startled by a yelp of pain and the crash of Blaine's phone hitting and bouncing across the floor. Kurt jerked his phone away, pained by the noise. He pressed it back when he heard Blaine's muffled, self-deprecating grumbles before the phone was picked up. "Kurt? Are you still there?"

"I'm here," he answered with a soft laugh. "Are you okay?" Kurt found himself asking that question rather often.

"Yeah," Blaine answered in what Kurt recognized as his embarrassed 'I did it again' groan. He could just imagine his boyfriend's cute, scrunched up face.

"Why'd you drop the phone?" he asked through his smile.

"I stubbed my toe," Blaine admitted, blowing out a resigned exhale.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, though he was only sorry for the pain. He found Blaine's clumsiness endearing. They both knew he didn't need to ask, but he did anyway, "Were you distracted?"

Blaine chuckled. "You could say that."

"By wha-at?" Kurt wheedled playfully.

"You, Kurt. It's always you."

"Ohh," he sighed. "That's so sweet." Knowing the answer and hearing Blaine say it were very different things.

"What– um–" Blaine swallowed thickly. "You said you were thinking about me before I called?"

"Mm-hmm," Kurt hummed.

"What were you thinking?"

The half-whispered question made Kurt smile again. "I don't know if I should tell you."

"Please?" Blaine pleaded uncertainly, apparently not sure he wanted to know.

"Well–" Kurt paused, and the phone went so silent Blaine might have been holding his breath. "Are you sitting down?"

"One second," he answered in a rush. Then Kurt heard a heavy thump and creak like he'd thrown himself onto his bed. "Okay," Blaine swiftly gave him the go ahead. Kurt pictured him sprawled across the mattress on his stomach. It was a delicious visual.

"I was thinking about the way you kiss me," Kurt said at last, genuine guilelessness saving him from any embarrassment in telling the truth.

"You were?" Blaine asked huskily and Kurt smiled, glad he couldn't hurt himself.

"Mm-hmm. I think about it all the time." His lusty thumb resumed its shameless phone-rubbing. "I wish you were here now. I'm pretending you are."

"I wish I was too," Blaine said – and there it was, the shiver-inducer.

It raced down Kurt's body, leaving chills and heat clashing in its wake. "I can hardly wait to see you. Tomorrow night is going to take a year to get here," Kurt complained piteously.

"I know. Try to get some sleep. It'll help pass the time, and I don't want you to be too tired to see me tomorrow," Blaine's bone-melting voice coaxed Kurt's eyelids into drooping obediently.

"I'll never be too tired to see you," he vowed. "But I do want to be wide awake tomorrow night. I want to 'talk' until my lips go numb. Possibly longer." Kurt might have imagined the tiny whimper he heard. "Goodnight, Blaine. I hope you have sweet dreams."

"I will," he breathed into Kurt's ear.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

_I will._

The parting words echoed in Kurt's mind, sparking the fascinating question, 'What does Blaine dream about?' Kurt's consisted of being alone with his boyfriend, kissing, handholding and whispering sugary promises to each other. His dreams were warm and fuzzy.

Maybe Blaine's were similar. Maybe not. Kurt wasn't naïve enough to think his romanticism was the norm among teen boys. But among gay teen boys? Who knew? Blaine was very romantic, and certainly never did anything to make Kurt uncomfortable, but that didn't mean he didn't want more.

Kurt took a deep breath and forced himself out of his comfort zone to think about the next step in their relationship. Whether or not he was ready to take that step was an entirely different question, and one he wouldn't tackle yet. First, he'd concentrate on finding out what Blaine wanted.

Obviously he couldn't just come out and ask – Blaine might do himself a serious injury. But he could try guessing. So, he began by asking himself what _he_ might want next and was startled by an instant vision of Blaine's bare chest. Embarrassed by his own wicked thoughts, his cheeks reddened, but he went on with determination, and a promise to himself that no one would ever hear of this.

He'd seen Blaine in swim trunks numerous times. He'd even applied sunscreen to his back. A tremor flitted through him at the memory. But what if – his hands clenched at his daring – what if Blaine turned to face him while his fingers were still smoothing lotion over the broad planes of his back? The tremor intensified and he forced his hands to unclench, imagining, shockingly, allowing them to slide over Blaine's chest. _Ohh._

Kurt's lips parted and his pulse quickened. His hands were at his own chest, palm out, skimming gently along the bedspread. His mind's eye replaced the fabric with warm, golden skin. Fantasy-Blaine stood motionless while Kurt, eyes wide with wonder even in his dream, stroked his palms from Blaine's shoulders to the middle of his chest. Then his shaking hands ventured slowly outward, bravely sliding over firm pecs and, eventually, inevitably, nipples. Kurt was stunned at his own boldness and felt light-headed as his blood rushed around in his body, collecting in areas other than his brain. He held his breath and let his fingertips graze over the soft buds until they hardened under his touch. He gasped and his eyes flew open. This was a far cry from warm and fuzzy. This dream left him quivering. Aching to touch the real Blaine. Maybe he had a nipple kink. How mortifying.

Clearly, he could envision going further with Blaine at some point. That hadn't been the question, though, he sternly reminded himself. He wanted– needed– to know what _Blaine_ dreamed of. His boyfriend rarely got to see him shirtless. Did he want to? Did Blaine want to – Kurt's pulse sped up again – touch him? How terrifying. But he'd try to be brave.

Dream Blaine returned, less passive this time, placing his hands firmly onto Kurt's bare shoulders. _When did I lose my shirt?_ But instead of stroking Kurt's chest and potentially giving him a heart attack, those fabulous arms wrapped around his back, pulling him closer. Their bare chests touched and Kurt was amazed by the sensations whirling through him. Light-headedness became dizziness as his virtual-self squirmed against Blaine's scalding skin until he was pulled tighter and suddenly they were on his aunt's porch, fully clothed, saying goodnight after a date, but Blaine was holding him like he never had before. Kurt's imaginary-self seemed almost as surprised as _he_ was. Blaine's arms were around him, squeezing him, holding him near enough for their thighs to touch and their hips and– _ohh_.

Blaine turned them quickly, keeping him off-guard, which wasn't difficult. Then Kurt's back was flat against the wall and a hand was on his chin, holding him still as Blaine looked at him with an intensity he'd never shown in real life. 'Do you want me to stop?' Fantasy-Blaine asked, his dark, spellbinding eyes challenging Fantasy-Kurt. But he was robbed of the power of speech and couldn't answer, so Kurt's head shook and his dream-self followed suit.

The next instant, Blaine's talented tongue was in his mouth, turning him to pudding, and he was sandwiched tightly between the hard walls of his aunt's house and his boyfriend's body. Blaine pushed forward until air couldn't pass between them and Kurt was still freaking out over that when something truly amazing happened. The hips that were fitted to his, bone against bone, everything against everything, moved in a slow, deliberate roll.

Dream-Kurt's shocked sound was cut off by his boyfriend's hot kiss and he had no idea what to do with his hands. They fluttered aimlessly at his sides until Blaine ground against him again and Kurt scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders. Subconsciously, he knew that holding onto Blaine would save him from falling into the sky and floating away while he waited anxiously to see what his boyfriend would do next, and hoped fervently, and secretly, that it would involve more friction because he'd never felt – or fantasized – anything like this.

Both Kurts moaned gratefully when Blaine's strong hands wrapped firmly around his hips and he began to thrust rhythmically. Kurt's dream-self was dissolving into a Kurt-shaped stain on the wall and Real-Kurt quite suddenly had both hands spread flat over his tented pajamas – hips and hands moving in time to Blaine's grinding.

Wildly cascading jolts of electricity bounced around recklessly in his bloodstream and a loud gasp slipped from his mouth. He pressed his lips tightly together to trap any other noises, and whimpers that tried to spill from his throat were ruthlessly choked back, until he couldn't breathe and his lips parted in a soundless cry. His orgasm crashed over him in a white hot flash of light, and the dream-couple slumped together, trembling blissfully.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

The room was dark and quiet, and Kurt stared blearily up at the ceiling, his panting breaths echoing against the silence as he thought again of Blaine's words. His confident expectation of sweet dreams took on a whole new meaning. It was possible, Kurt thought, just possible, that Blaine had done this at some point.

The idea caused a fresh, tingling twitch of awareness and Kurt looked down, surprised and indignant. His hands still rested over his pants, covering the sticky mess. He wanted to pull them away, but it seemed wrong, as though abandoning his body now would mean he'd been using himself – getting his rocks off, to use a vulgar turn of phrase. He preferred romance. It was less disconcerting. Romanticism didn't make his hips jerk and spasm of their own accord.

His hands stayed and he felt better. It made the act somehow more emotional. If it were Blaine here with him, Kurt was certain there'd be cuddling. Blaine wouldn't abandon him, sticky or not. Nevertheless, he'd clean up in a few minutes, when his legs were less wobbly. In the meantime, his mind jumped back to the fascinating possibility of Blaine, thinking about Kurt, while touching himself. He could, in fact, be doing it at this very moment. _Twitch_.

Okay, he needed to get off that train of thought. All of this had started for a reason. The question was not _if_ Blaine wanted him. Kurt could reasonably assume he did, at least to some degree, because he'd asked him out. Attraction could be inferred from that. Not to mention the frequent tongue action. But, as to the question of _what_ Blaine wanted next from the relationship, Kurt hadn't the foggiest clue. He was about as inexperienced in the sex department as a healthy seventeen year old boy who wasn't locked away in a tower could be. He wasn't even sure what _he_ liked. He couldn't begin to guess what his boyfriend might fantasize. Yet, he wanted answers. So he'd probably need a more practical approach than guessing. Something more... hands-on, perhaps.

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><p>TBC<p>

**A/N:** Hi all! I hope you're enjoying it so far. I just love Klutz!Blaine.


	2. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 2: The Best Laid Plans**

_What a tremendous waste of time._ Kurt shut down his computer in frustration. After thinking about it all day at work, he'd decided to try some research, and a fruitless hour later, he was still hopelessly stumped. The internet had failed him, yielding nothing but porn and clinical advice. _Apply gentle pressure to your partner's perineum._ "What the heck is a perineum?" he'd asked the cold black and white print on the screen, which lead to tangent research, as pointless as it was embarrassing. Still, he might be able to do something with that knowledge in the distant future. Like on his honeymoon. Or in the shower. _Time to get ready!_

An hour later he was drying himself and slowly pulling on his clothes with a dazed expression. Perhaps he'd been a bit hasty in disregarding research. But really, how was he going to proceed on his date? He might have to depend on his own ideas, and those were thin on the ground. The fashion magazine he'd just bought provided nothing better than 'Ten Tips for Reigniting the Bedroom Fire.' Hmph. Useless. There'd been no fires yet. No bedrooms, for that matter. There should be books for people like him.

_~Everything You Ever Needed to Know About Making Out with Your Gay Teen Boyfriend  
><em>_~Beginner's Guide to Romance: You Don't Have To Take Your Clothes Off  
><em>_~Second Base? Third Base? Where Are They and How Do I Get There?_

The closer it got to 7:30 the harder it was to stop smiling. Kurt would consciously smooth out his features – because 'Hello! Crow's feet!' – then catch himself five minutes later with another huge grin on his face. Blaine was going to give him premature wrinkles. And he was _so_ worth it.

He checked his reflection again nervously, turning to look over his shoulder. Blaine hadn't seen his white jeans yet, and the shirt was new, one they'd picked out together. The problem, as Kurt saw it, was that he wasn't wearing a tie or clip, so his collar was wide open and, even worse, he wore no vest or undershirt. He was almost naked under his clothes!

There were at least two inches of bare skin on display below the hollow of his throat. No layers. What was he thinking? He might as well give Blaine a written invitation.

The sound of a car in the driveway pushed all other thoughts out of his head and he dashed around the room, jumping into his shoes, snatching up his keys, phone and lip balm – the necessities – then bolted for the hall, hurtling through the house. He called a hasty farewell to his aunt and skidded to a halt in front of the door, smoothing his windblown hair before stepping calmly outside.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

Blaine slowed after the final turn. It wouldn't do to have Kurt's aunt think he drove like a maniac and pass that tidbit to Kurt's father. He parked with care in the driveway and wiped damp palms on his jeans, but before he could get out of the car, his phone beeped. He checked it, thinking it might be Kurt, to say he wasn't ready.

He chuckled when he saw the message was from David. His friend had taken it upon himself to provide 'helpful' lines for wooing Kurt – texts that were always guaranteed to be two things: inappropriate and in rhyme. The current questionable gem was, _'Your eyes are like azure. It's true. Please don't thank me. Just tear off my clothes, bend me over and spank me.'_

Blaine smiled in spite of himself before deleting the message. David's help might not be helpful, but it amused. On the other hand, the azure comment wasn't bad.

As he opened the car door, Blaine saw Kurt come out of the house and stopped to look, savoring the first sight of him after two long days without. He traipsed lightly down the steps and Blaine relaxed back into the driver's seat. For some unknown reason, when he was around Kurt he often managed to trip over his own feet, but he didn't resent his boyfriend's poise. He was too busy enjoying the view for piddly things like envy. A view that only got better when Kurt stopped half-way to the car to fling his arms up, ta-da style. He was wearing the new shirt they'd picked out together. A vibrant aqua color that brought out his eyes. Blaine loved him in that color. And every other color.

Blaine was grinning enthusiastically at Kurt. Until he began to turn.

Of course, he was meant to be admiring the shirt. Kurt would be scandalized if he knew otherwise. But what Blaine saw were hips and thighs and everything in that vicinity, all pure white like a vanilla sundae. Shapely bits were cradled in lickable ice cream denim and Blaine's sharp inhale set off a violent coughing fit that made Kurt halt mid-twirl and run to the car, where he quickly hopped into the passenger side and rubbed sympathetic circles on Blaine's back.

After a little more hacking, Blaine could breathe again and brought Kurt's concerned face into watery focus.

"Are you okay?"

"I swallowed my gum," he rasped.

"I'm sorry." Kurt's sad, guilt-ridden face drew a chuckle from Blaine, sore throat and all.

"Note to self." Blaine shook his head. "Spit out my gum _before_ I get to Kurt's house." He was rewarded with a hesitant smile before Kurt's glance flicked to his mouth and Blaine knew he must have imagined the darkening of his eyes. Wishful thinking plays havoc with the imagination.

"I missed you," Kurt said breathily, just before Blaine's lips were claimed and rational thoughts about his overactive imagination, as well as irrational thoughts about edible jeans went by the wayside. Meanwhile, Kurt was in raptures. It had been _days_ since their last kiss. Much, much too long. And from the urgent thrust of a tongue into his mouth, he'd say his boyfriend agreed.

But when Kurt eventually let him come up for air, Blaine's peripheral vision caught a flash of white and he remembered. "Kurt. Those pants." He loved vanilla.

"Oh, do you like them? They go with almost anything." Kurt gave him a conspiratorial, borderline-evil grin. "Wait until after Labor Day. That's when I break out my black jeans."

Blaine very nearly whimpered. "I wanna see the black jeans." Licorice denim. He could learn to love licorice.

"You can see anything you want." Kurt's voice was like a caress, and Blaine was grateful he had nothing left to choke on. He was positive Kurt had no idea how his innocent words could be misconstrued. Blaine kissed him again, deeply, to impress upon him that statements like that could have consequences.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

"We should go," Kurt murmured, even as his hands cupped his boyfriend's face and fingers slid into his hair. Thick eyelashes fluttered and heavy-lidded hazel eyes cracked open. "Blaine," Kurt whispered, and his lips curled when those remarkable eyes drifted closed again. "Bla-aine," he quietly crooned.

"Hmm?" Blaine could see better when he opened his eyes again. Well enough to lean in for another taste, and that's what mattered, really.

"Blaine." It came out more like a moan that time.

"Mmm," Blaine replied, because listening was important and he wouldn't want Kurt to think he wasn't listening while his lips confirmed that the line of his boyfriend's jaw did in fact lead conveniently to his earlobe. It was good information to have.

Kurt's head tilted a little. "We're still in the driveway," he reminded, although his concern over that fact was dwindling in direct relation to the amount of contact between Blaine's mouth and his skin. Which was why he frowned unhappily when the contact abruptly ended.

The words crept along the edge of his consciousness until they made their way far enough into his fuzzy mind for true comprehension. Then Blaine jerked back and his eyes snapped to the house. No curtains appeared to be pulled aside for voyeuristic relatives, and the fading of twilight into dusk might have provided a tiny bit of privacy, but he'd definitely been trying to eat Kurt's face in a semi-public place. So much for getting on the aunt's good side. Instead of maniac driver she could now inform Kurt's dad that he was dating a sex maniac. Blaine groaned and looked around. His door was still open, of course, because things obviously weren't bad enough already. They might as well attract as much attention as possible and put on a good show for neighbors and passersby.

A delicious, moist warmth alerted him to the fact that Kurt had followed his retreat and was now learning that Blaine's jaw, much like Kurt's, happened to be a direct line to his ear. He was a quick study. "Kurt," he choked in aroused panic and placed both palms on his shoulders to push him gently away. "We should go somewhere more..."

"Private?" Kurt didn't even try to conceal the hopeful note in his question.

"Yes. Private." Blaine belatedly pulled his door closed and started the car, without looking at the bundle of distraction next to him.

"Somewhere close by?" Kurt's fingertips walked up Blaine's arm.

Blaine swallowed and nodded, trying to think unsexy thoughts so he could drive them somewhere private and close. The closer, the better.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

Kurt struggled to quiet his moans. They were parked somewhere. He didn't know where because he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything but Blaine. Darkness had fallen. The sunset had probably been lovely. He didn't care.

As usual, they were in the front seats, kissing over the console. Even that much didn't happen often with Kurt working days and Blaine nights, so it was important not to waste these opportunities. But kissing wasn't a waste. It was the goal. One they never failed to achieve. However, after the previous night's exploits, Kurt's newly awakened libido was busy setting additional goals. Unfamiliar signals were being transmitted all through his body, and his hands on his boyfriend's back wanted to go exploring. Wanted to tug the shirt from his pants and make contact with warm skin. His own choice of outfit seemed like a good idea again too. It would be a simple matter for Blaine to flick open a button or two and slide a hand over his collarbone.

In fact, Kurt had to wonder why that hadn't already happened. His carefully, if hastily, constructed plan to find out if his boyfriend wanted to touch him wasn't working as it should. Maybe Blaine had missed the signals? But they were so obvious. No bow-tie. No undershirt. For once, he wasn't buttoned up like Fort Knox. Naked throat on display!

Maybe chest-touching wasn't something Blaine was interested in. Unfortunately, that would put Kurt back at square one with the question of what he might like. It was also more disappointing than he'd care to admit. Now that he'd had time to adjust to the idea, it wasn't quite so terrifying to think of Blaine's hands on him.

Kurt would give him another chance. Nudge him carefully with an even more glaring hint. He made a brazen decision and his cheeks flamed, which Blaine missed because his eyes were closed while he feasted on Kurt's mouth. He didn't really notice when a hand slid slowly up his back to his shoulder before disappearing altogether. It soon returned, tenderly stroking down his neck to rub over his collarbone through his shirt.

One of Blaine's hands left his boyfriend's thick, soft hair to touch his neck, instinctively mimicking the activities taking place on his own body. His fingers slipped easily beneath the loose collar, kneading tight muscles at the crook of Kurt's shoulder. He was dimly aware something was different, but before he could drag himself into full consciousness, Kurt moaned into his mouth and he was gone again.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

Being with Blaine warmed Kurt's heart, always, but now there was also a sharp spike of need – an intro to those raging hormones he'd heard about. Unfortunately, Kurt had no experience with such primal cravings, and no control over them. He wasn't fully aware that he'd brought a leg up under him, or that he was leaning half-way into the driver's side to devour Blaine's mouth while his body tried to get closer, seeking contact. Any contact.

It was too much for Blaine. He was gasping for air when Kurt broke away from his lips to taste his throat with hot, open-mouthed kisses. The ache he always felt was downright painful this time. Strong enough to bring him crashing back to reality, where he suddenly realized he was on his own side of the car with his back pressed into the seat and his hips trying to rise into the air, while his hands gripped the front of Kurt's shirt. At some point he must have tried to pull Kurt bodily into his lap. He panicked and yanked his boyfriend closer in a knee-jerk reaction. But he didn't register Kurt's appreciative sound before heaving him back to his own side of the car, as if that might undo what he'd done.

He bent forward until his forehead hit the steering wheel and gripped it in white-knuckled fists to stop himself from doing anything to ease his problem. He'd been in such a hurry to see Kurt that he hadn't taken time for his standard pre-date precautions and now he was paying for it. Twice last night after their phone call and once this morning in the shower wasn't good enough. He clenched his teeth and wished for a bucket of ice to dump on his crotch.

Kurt tried to make sense of his surroundings once he could open his lead-weighted eyes. One moment he'd been happily attached to his boyfriend's face, and the next, Blaine was two feet away banging his head on the steering wheel. The last thing Kurt remembered was the frustration of obstacles between them, and wanting to be closer. And then – he frowned – had Blaine pushed him away?

The upside of a self-inflicted headache, Blaine thought, would be a lessening of other aches. He collided with the steering wheel again and winced, rubbing his forehead, but at that moment, the headache was preferable.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?" Blaine didn't look at him. His headache wasn't so bad that he was ready to face Kurt. He needed another minute. Or five.

Certain now that Blaine had shoved him, Kurt stared in confusion, squirming uncomfortably in his tight jeans. "I was– I thought we–" he stumbled, trying to figure out how to ask. "What happened?"

No bucket of ice had shown itself, and knuckles whitened on the wheel again. Of course Kurt didn't know why he'd stopped. He probably had no idea what effect he had on Blaine. "I'm sorry."

Kurt became even more confused. "Sorry? For what?" They'd been doing so well. His first guess had been tentatively confirmed when Blaine's hand slipped into his shirt, and he'd thought if he paid close attention Blaine might do something to give him a clue what else he liked. Maybe Blaine was sorry for stopping? Kurt reached out to place a comforting hand on his back, letting his boyfriend know it was okay if he wasn't ready to go further.

_Sorry for what? Where do I begin_, Blaine asked himself. He must have been really far gone if he'd tried to haul Kurt into his lap and couldn't even remember doing it. So, he should apologize for turning into an animal. He might also have been on the verge of coming in his pants. That alone probably would have been enough to make Kurt run, screaming. Thankfully, he'd come to his senses in time, so his boyfriend was – hopefully – unaware of that near disaster. But then he'd topped off the evening by throwing his boyfriend across the car. Blaine decided another head/steering wheel collision was in order.

"Blaine! Please stop. It's okay. _I'm_ sorry." Kurt rubbed his back and pulled him into a hug to save his poor abused forehead. "Everything's fine. We were only kissing." Which was mostly true, if you didn't count a little shoulder fondling. "You know how much I like it when you kiss me." Blaine's arms wrapped around him and Kurt's cheek rubbed gently against his hair. "You're the best boyfriend in the world." Kurt's voice was quiet; comforting. "You don't know how happy I've been since I met you."

"You make me happy too." Blaine squeezed him and sat back to make his apologies. Then he looked down and his eyes bugged out. He was horrified to see Kurt's shirt gaping open. Well, not so much horrified as turned on. If only he could have a little taste. _No! Nonono!_ Blaine's head dropped into his hands. He really was an animal.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

**A/N:** This chapter was a study in writer's block. Unlike the next, which practically wrote itself. Welcome back David!


	3. Crazy Talk

**Chapter 3: Crazy Talk**

"Why am I here?"

Blaine's eyes slid to the side, where his friend floated nearby. "Because you're my wingman?"

"And you require a wingman because...?"

"Er–"

David suddenly gasped and went under, sloshing about before getting his feet planted firmly beneath him and swiping the water off his face impatiently. He goggled at Blaine. "Are you dumping Kurt?"

"What! Are you crazy?" Blaine looked at him as though he really had lost it. "I'd sooner chew off my own foot."

While his friend carefully reestablished his cool, Blaine went back to gazing across the pool at his boyfriend, sitting in the lifeguard's chair. "He's gorgeous isn't he?"

"Breathtaking." David's dry response got him a dirty look. "Whatever. He's hot, I guess." His face twisted in disbelief that those words had left his mouth. Blaine snickered.

"It's okay. You can say it. No one's going to take away your man card."

David cleared his throat and stood up straighter in the chest-high water, glancing around in vain for a girl his age to hit on. "So, what do you need my help with? Is he not putting out?"

"No!"

"He _is_ putting out?"

"NO!" Blaine's glare fizzled when he noticed Kurt frowning at him curiously. He smiled and waved, and Kurt reluctantly returned to watching the kids. "No!" he hissed at a more discreet volume. "Kurt's not like that."

"Like what?"

"You know– like– that. We're waiting until we're ready."

David stared at him in silence until Blaine couldn't hold his gaze any longer. "Blaine," he said carefully. "We're guys. We're born ready."

"Not Kurt," he asserted defensively.

"Is he not equipped?"

"What?"

"Does he have all the usual parts?" David clarified.

"Of course!" As far as Blaine knew.

"Then I'd be willing to bet he's ready."

"We have a relationship. We're not rushing into– you know– anything."

"Sex. It's called sex, Blaine. Now I understand why you need a wingman. Haven't you been using the tips I sent you?"

An exaggerated eye roll answered his question.

"There's plenty more where those came from too."

"Please, no."

"Gesundheit," said David. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Do you have a pen? This is good stuff. You might want to write it down."

Blaine didn't bother with further rolling of the eyes. Rather, he returned to his favorite pastime of watching Kurt until David got it out of his system.

David made an effort to look poetical. Or as poetical as one can look when standing in a public pool surrounded by screeching kids. "White puffs of cloud," he quietly intoned, indicating the summer sky with an elegant hand. "Gray plumes of smoke. Please shove it in until I choke."

Blaine groaned.

"Oh, don't worry. There's more," promised the young writer, and began again. "Every night you've been with me as I've slept and I've dreamed." He paused for dramatic effect. "Every morning I wake unsurprisingly creamed."

"Stop. I beg you."

"We'll take moonlit walks, holding hands as we stroll. Then I'll kiss your sweet lips and ride you like a bronco." David looked apologetic. "That one has an extra syllable, so you'll have to remember to squish 'ride you' together."

"Oh my God."

"That's precisely what he'll say to this next one," David assured him. "I'm loyal and honest, got both feet on the ground. Plus, I have a huge dick. You should keep me around."

Blaine clapped a restraining hand over David's runaway mouth. "Do you mind? There are children present." He glanced around to make sure no little kiddies were listening to David and consequently being scarred for life.

"Buh ah haf moor," he whined a muffled reply into the blocking palm.

"No. No you don't." Blaine slowly removed the block, but maintained a threatening glare.

"I was just getting started. If these lines don't get you laid, nothing will."

"I don't want to get laid," Blaine informed him through tightly clenched teeth.

David goggled for the second time in his life, and took a self-preservative step away from his apparently ill friend. "The problem is more serious than I thought." He tapped a finger to his chin. "Have you been hurt? Old war wound?"

Blaine chuckled. "No war wounds."

"Sports injury?"

"Afraid not."

David peered through the water in the general direction of Blaine's trunks. "Do _you_ not possess the usual equipment?"

"David!"

"You can tell me. I'm your wingman. Your secrets are protected by client/wingman confidentiality."

"Thank goodness for small favors," Blaine retorted.

"Don't try to evade the question." David wagged a finger in his face.

"I'm intact," he snarled.

"Hmm." David tapped his chin once more, eyeing his friend up and down. "Maybe you're the one who's not hot. I'm not really the best judge of these things. Let's find some girls and take a survey."

"Not helping."

"I beg to differ. Of the three of us, it looks like I'm the only one trying to help."

"Then I have to disappoint you. I wouldn't call this helpful even if I _was_ trying to get laid. Which I'm not."

"I begin to understand." David nodded wisely. "It's a psychological problem, rather than physical. Both can cause impotence, you know."

More glaring ensued. "Have I told you lately that you're an ass?"

"Confirmation. You're definitely not right in the head." David tutted.

Blaine's inner clock tried to tell him something and he frowned, searching his memory. When it hit him, his head zipped around and he sighed, studiously attending to the all-important sunscreen application process. It was very relaxing to watch. Mostly relaxing. Some parts perked up, but overall tension ebbed.

After a minute's observation he became aware of a buzzing in his ear that turned into David's voice – if he focused. "Not impotent then? Good for you. Or not, all things considered," David was saying. "Okay, I give up. What exactly is the reason you dragged me here today? Because if it was simply to watch your drool add to the water level, I'll take a pass next time."

The self-conscious smile Kurt was trying to hide was so cute. Blaine wished the pool would miraculously empty. He wished he could shout that it was closed due to shark infested waters, then urge all and sundry to hie themselves off so he could tug Kurt into the water and kiss him soundly. And wetly. While protecting him from man-eating fish, obviously.

"Blaine?"

"Hum?"

"Blaine!" David was scowling when his friend finally turned glazed eyes in his direction.

"What?" Blaine had the nerve to look at him with perfect innocence, not at all like someone who'd completely zoned out of five minutes of conversation.

"Tell me why you brought me here before I'm tempted to stuff your face into the nearest filter."

His eyes cleared and Blaine took a steadying breath. "Something happened last night."

A huge grin wiped the sour look from David's face. "I knew it! I knew you had to be lying about not getting any. As if anyone would believe that tripe about a couple of teenage boys voluntarily choosing to abstain. Pfft."

"Would you shut your yap."

"Hey," David admonished. "This mouth is a veritable treasure trove and you're lucky to get it. I should be charging you by the hour." Blaine smirked at that. "Wait. That didn't come out right."

"Are you going to hear me out, or not?"

"Am I stopping you from talking? No. I didn't think so. I happen to be an excellent listener and I'll thank you not to suggest otherwise. I have a reputation to uphold, you know. A good wingman is hard to find. I'm giving you gold here, you ungrateful, excessively salivating little sack of–"

"I attacked him."

David's rant was choked off and his interest peaked. "Really?" Then he remembered to whom he was speaking. "And by attacked, you mean verbally."

"No."

"You spilled coffee on his new Prada shoes?"

"No."

"Don't tell me you actually _stepped_ on the Pradas?" David's face registered shock. "You trod on his tootsies?"

"Don't be stupid."

"So, what then? You flashed your weapon and told him to stick 'em up? Or in, as it were? Did you," David leaned closer to whisper, "tie him up and have your wicked way?" He straightened, restoring some important distance. "If so, I do not wish to hear the details."

"Ass."

"I said no details!" David's hand was outstretched, palm in Blaine's face, while he ran a critical eye over Kurt. "He doesn't look like he minded all that much."

"Worst. Wingman. Ever."

"As if. I'm a pro. You should learn to be more appreciative." David paused thoughtfully. "Is that the problem? You forgot to say thank you last night?"

"Remind me to have a talk with any girl crazy enough to date you," said Blaine.

"So you two can 'ooh' and 'aah' over my manly physique? No need. I know I'm hot. My smile alone makes the ladies swoon." David flashed a seductive smile and Blaine feigned a swoon.

"Oh, David!" His eyelashes fluttered and he reached out. "You're so hot! Give us a kiss." Blaine puckered.

"Gah!" David reared back in abject horror. "Fine! I give up. Just tell me what happened. From over there." He pointed to a spot in the deep end.

Blaine checked again for eavesdroppers before confiding anything. "We were making out last night," he spoke low and moved closer, causing David to lean away suspiciously and with a hint of fright.

"Nice to know you're not completely hopeless."

"Shut it," Blaine automatically replied. "We were parked, and just kissing, like always. He's an amazing kisser. You wouldn't believe this thing he does with his–"

"Hold it! Too much information." David checked the sidelines, almost desperate for a girl to rub up against. The lack of which was making his current discomfort all the more discomforting. He settled for a quick dunk underwater in light of the appalling shortage of female company. "Okay, go on," he said. He was a good friend, after all, whether he wanted to be or not. "But stick to the abstract!" He wasn't _that_ good a friend.

"Fine. We were in the front seats. In my car, you know, not too close. And then..."

David refused to acknowledge any interest in the rest of that statement and waited in stubborn silence, making sure to wear a mask of bored resignation. _Why_ were there no teenage girls at this pool? Whose freaking idea was it to come here in the first place? Next year he was getting a season pass to Six Flags.

After several long moments, during which David's (non-existent) curiosity remained unsatisfied, he glowered and poked his annoying friend. "Get on with it. I haven't got all day. I might have a date later." Maybe the mall would contain a better – or any – selection of date-worthies. Although there were a couple of respectably hot twenty and thirty-somethings here, their kids were off-putting.

"I'm fuzzy on the details but–" Blaine stared off into space.

"I don't want details," David was quick to remind them both.

"Sometimes," Blaine went on as if he hadn't spoken, "when we're kissing, I get sort of–" David might have leaned a little closer again, but only to hear Blaine over the noise. "I get so caught up in it, I can barely remember my own name."

David scoffed. Blaine had been deserving of more than the standard quota of scoffing as of late. "Is that supposed to surprise me?" David crossed his arms over his half-submerged chest. "You've been walking around in a daze since the first time we came here. When you weren't falling on your face, that is." He shot a glance toward the responsible party, sitting placidly in his chair, proudly attired in a banana yellow swim shirt like it was all the rage. "You know what your problem is." He turned back to his deeply tanned pool-buddy. "It's obvious you suffer from lack of blood to the brain. If you'd hurry up and tap that, maybe your circulation would return to normal." Solid advice, in David's opinion.

"Do you have to be so crass?"

"Get over yourself, Blaine. It's not like we don't all _know_ what you want to do to him."

Blaine's heartfelt groan and pained look garnered no sympathy. "Of course I want him. _Look_ at him. That's beside the point. I will not be ruled by my–– hormones." He frowned. "Actually, that's kind of the problem. Last night I was ruled by my hormones."

David's brows shot up. "So, wait. You're saying you guys did...? Because I could have sworn you just told me you didn't."

"No! We were only kissing, like I said. But then..."

"Oh, no you don't. You left that thought hanging once already. At this rate we'll have turned into prunes before you get to the end of the sentence. Now spit it out."

"I opened my eyes and he was half on top of me. In the driver's seat." Blaine's expression said more than his words and David grinned wolfishly. "Would you stop?" Blaine chastised. "Don't you get it? I tried to pull him onto me," he whispered harshly.

"Yeah? And?"

"And nothing!" Blaine forgot to keep his voice down again and got strange looks from various patrons and Kurt. "I stopped in time. Before I did anything worse. Or so I thought."

"Well, don't stop there." David threw up his hands when Blaine paused once again at a crucial juncture in the story.

"I may have also tried to take off his shirt." A faint blush was barely visible under his dark tan.

"So what?" asked David in confusion. "He's a guy. It's not like there's anything worth looking at under his shirt." He perked up, grinning at his unconsciously spoken derision of the male form, then sighed in relief. _It's perfectly natural, _he comforted himself, _to be interested in sex, even if the parties involved hold no attraction for me personally._ He glanced back in Kurt's direction. _He's not _that _hot._ David's eyes went wide and he turned away to drop his forehead – gently – against the side of the pool. Clearly he needed that date as soon as possible.

The warmth in his cheeks drove Blaine to cool off and he submerged, oblivious to his friend and advisor's existential crisis. He popped to the surface after a few seconds and slicked his hair back, smiling at Kurt, who gazed at him in open adoration. "I know _you_ don't think there's anything to see," Blaine picked up the conversation where they left off. "But my body disagrees. In fact, it's quite adamant about these things." He grinned at his still staring boyfriend, and gestured with two fingers, pointing first at his own eyes and then at the exuberant, careless kids Kurt was meant to be watching. He could see the huff and blush from across the way.

David remained in his comfortable head-meets-concrete position and spoke to the wall, concluding that a direct line of questioning was the only way to finish this miserable conversation so he could get out of there and hit the nearest mall, where his future date waited. "Did you, or did you not, get him out of his clothes?" he demanded. Why did no one warn him of the inherent dangers of being a wingman?

"Shh!" Blaine back-handed his arm. "Keep your voice down. One complaint from any of these kids' mothers and we'll be banned for life."

David shrugged. The public pool wasn't as appealing as it used to be.

Blaine's brow furrowed as he noted a change in his normally cheerful, snarky friend. He must be as overwrought as Blaine himself over the ordeal of the previous evening. "No, I didn't," he finally answered the question. "Not completely. Only a few buttons," he muttered a reluctant confession.

"Let me get this straight," David twisted his bent head around far enough to peek sideways at Blaine. "You didn't get his clothes off, and you didn't drag him into the driver's seat... Then _what_ is your problem? Other than the obvious."

"What's the obvious?" Blaine asked before he thought better of it.

David straightened, having inflicted enough self-punishment for the time being. "That you think _not_ doing those things is good. I believe you might need to seek professional help. There's only so much I can do."

"When is Wes going to finish that stupid internship?" Blaine groused. "Maybe he would have something helpful to say."

"Highly unlikely. He's a guy too, you know. I'm sure he'd agree with me. You're the only one who seems to keep forgetting our innate maleness."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means – why did you stop what you were evidently in the process of doing last night? Did he tell you to stop?"

"Uh, no. But–"

"Did the words 'don't touch me there' pass his lips at any time?"

"Er–" Blaine disclaimed.

"Did he slap you?" Blaine's head shook in reply. "Punch you? Cry? Threaten to call his daddy? Did he scream like a girl?" David continued his relentless interrogation.

"No." Blaine squirmed, refusing to say more and potentially incriminate himself with admissions of too gentlemanly behavior.

"And do you know why?" David warmed to his argument. "Because, Blaine, he is not a girl. I am, however, starting to have my doubts about you."

"Listen," Blaine went on the defensive, "I will never try to rush him into anything." He crossed his arms, prepared to be stubborn. "It will happen when we're both ready and not before."

"Good."

"Eh?" His arms fell as Blaine lost track of the conversation.

"Come on, Blaine. How well do you know me?" David shook his head at his friend's obtuseness. "Of course I don't want you to do something you're not ready for, and I'd punch you myself if I thought you were pressuring Kurt."

"...Confused now."

"I don't believe for a second that you 'attacked' him. So, why don't we figure out what really happened?"

"I think I need to sit down."

They hefted themselves onto the pool's edge, legs dangling in the water. Blaine naturally set his sights on his boyfriend and was awarded a big, beautiful smile that forced his own lips into a curve. His eyes softened and head listed to one side while he watched his favorite show ever. Kurt TV.

"Blaine. Blaine!" David's patience was wearing thin.

"What!"

"You were in La-La Land again."

"I can't help it. Did you see the way he smiled at me?"

"Yes. I was all aquiver." David was pleased to note that wasn't true at all. "Back to the matter at hand?"

"What?" Blaine continued to stare across the water, while Kurt tried valiantly to ignore him and do his job.

David smacked the back of his head. "Pull yourself together, man."

"Sorry." He cleared his head of untimely daydreams.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," said David. "My boyfriend's so handsome," he pitched his voice high for a proper mocking. "My boyfriend has the cutest smile." He brought the backs of his hands to rest under his chin and gazed at Blaine through fluttering lashes.

It was David's turn to get hit. "Jealous," Blaine accused with a smile.

"I'd have a girlfriend by now if I didn't dedicate all my valuable time to your pitiful love life. How about we go to the mall tomorrow and you can be _my_ wingman for a change."

"Can't tomorrow. It's Kurt's day off."

"Ingrate."

Blaine offered up his much sought after, charm-the-socks-off-you smile. "The day after tomorrow. I promise."

David was unfazed by the dazzle of teeth. "Hmph. I could be in a serious relationship by then. No thanks to you."

"Well, on the off chance you're still single, I'll plan on being dragged around the mall in two days."

"As if you would ever need to be _dragged_ around a mall," David scorned.

"To chase girls? Dragging will be required."

David turned up his nose, but didn't disagree. "More for me."

"Absolutely. They're all yours. Now, about last night?"

"Of course," David responded dryly. "For a moment there I forgot the world revolves around you. Do forgive me."

"Jackass." Blaine grinned. "Shut up and tell me why what I think happened didn't happen."

He rolled his eyes and held back his own smug grin. David so enjoyed being right. "Remember what you said when I asked if you were breaking up?"

"Um. That I'd sooner chew off my foot?"

"Yes."

Blaine shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Because I'm sure I'd get a similar response if I were to ask if you would ever hurt him, and attacking generally falls under the category of hurt," David explained slowly, as his friend had recently developed an attention deficit. "Stop leering at Kurt's legs for five minutes and try to pay attention."

"Sorry."

"What I'm trying to make you see is that you would never attack Kurt, intentionally or otherwise. So, just start from the beginning and tell me what happened last night."

"If you insist." Blaine's slow smile gave David an uneasy feeling and he examined his surroundings, identifying the quickest escape route, just in case.

"Well," he began with relish, "I had just pulled into the driveway when you texted me one of your wildly creepy poems about... Never mind what it was about. Then Kurt came out of the house and holy crap, you should have seen him. He had on these white pants that were sooo–"

"Stop right there," David ruthlessly interrupted as Blaine's hands rose into the air to grope an image only he could see. "Stick with the facts, please. The relevant facts. Without the infatuated commentary."

"Spoilsport." Blaine dropped his hands and blew an errant strand of drying hair off his forehead. Just for that, he skipped the gum asphyxiation portion of the story. David would have enjoyed that. "We decided to skip dinner and go park somewhere to– uh– talk. I was gone all weekend you know," Blaine tried to justify unnecessarily. "So then–"

"Freeze." David stopped him again.

"What now?" Blaine asked impatiently.

"Whose idea was it to skip dinner so you could 'uh talk?'"

"What difference does that make?"

"I'll ask the questions. Whose idea?"

"Kurt's," Blaine answered, exasperated. Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion at David's 'I knew it' face. "What?"

"Nothing. Continue."

"I would if you were capable of keeping your pie hole shut," Blaine voiced his complaint, to which David pointedly refused to respond. "Okay." Blaine kept an eye on him and returned to his tale. "We started making out. You know, kissing."

"I'm aware of what constitutes making out."

Blaine's brow rose in a silent 'I told you so' and David shut up. "Like I said before, I sometimes, maybe, get a little caught up."

"Ha!" David eloquently declared that to be an understatement, keeping his eyes on the pool and off of cynical friends with expressive facial features.

"It's so pleasant having a friend as kind and supportive as you, David." Blaine's sardonic comment rolled right off his friend's back.

"I know. I don't help just _anyone_ like this. You're very fortunate."

Blaine smiled fondly. He really was lucky to have a friend he could talk to about things like this. A lot of straight guys would be uncomfortable, but David didn't have those hang-ups. "Where was I?" he asked. All the tangents were disrupting his story.

"You were about to explain how you did not attack Kurt."

"Was I? I'm not sure how I'd have explained that, since I'm confident I did."

"You were kissing in the front seat and then..."

"Oh." Blaine's face went dreamy and David braced himself for unwanted particulars. "I don't know how long we stayed like that. I lost track of time." He missed David's silent expression of ridicule. "Then something felt different and I suddenly realized that I'd moved." Blaine frowned at the memory. "Instead of meeting in the middle, like we usually do, I was on my own side of the car and Kurt was right there with me. It was very awkward because it was like I had him bent over the console. You know?" His confusion was plain to see, but David gave him a vacant look. "I tried to pull him into my lap!" Blaine whispered the gist of his distress.

"That is suspicious. It would have been much simpler to climb into his lap, rather than pull him into yours. Even your pheromone-addled brain should have figured that out."

Blaine sat back, puzzling over his friend's logic, until David pulled him out of his reverie. "Was he struggling at all? How did he react to your supposed attack?"

"Um." Blaine blushed harder. "He started kissing my neck."

"So... not struggling, so much as participating." David pursed his lips, forming an interesting conclusion.

"Well. Yeah. I guess you could call it participating."

"And what did you do when you found yourself in this compromising situation?"

The blush deepened and Blaine visibly winced. "I– uh– sort of shoved him." The confession earned him a blank, disbelieving stare.

"You what."

Blaine swallowed against the arid dryness of his throat and shot an apologetic glance at Kurt. "I shoved him back into his own seat, okay?"

Another bout of silence followed this affirmation of the seemingly impossible. Then David – understandably – cuffed him again. The blow was unexpected, but Blaine accepted it as his due.

"I cannot," David firmly stated, "and will not, go with you on your dates. Either learn to think before you act, or find yourself a boyfriend who doesn't turn you into a blithering idiot."

"I'll take the first option, please."

"Excellent choice."

"What do I do?" Blaine pleaded for help. "Should I apologize? Should I," he hesitated, "put a stop to our makeout sessions?"

"Neither." David sounded confident and Blaine liked that answer. "You have nothing to apologize for, except the shoving, but we'll chalk that up to virginal panic rather than maliciousness."

"Thanks? But you seem to be forgetting the whole yanking him into my lap fiasco."

"No, I'm not. You are forgetting you weren't alone in that car."

"That makes no sense at all." Blaine's frustration was rising.

"Full-sized male. Immovable obstacles. No leverage. Easily stopped."

"Say again?"

"It didn't happen," said David.

"Have you been listening to me at all? Of course it happened!"

"Not the way you think." David might have been having a little fun toying with Blaine.

"Okay, genius. Please tell me how I ended up with a face full of Kurt on my side of the car if no one put him there?" Blaine crossed his arms, waiting for David's likely ridiculous answer.

"I never said no one put him there. I said _you_ didn't put him there." David paused while Blaine digested his words.

"Are you saying Kurt did it?" The incredulous tone implied David had, again, lost his grip on reality.

"Eureka! He got it," David snarked.

"You are a crazy person. No way did that happen."

"Really?" David was enjoying this entirely too much and had forgotten all about the mall. "Why is that, oh blithering one?"

"Because he didn't!" Blaine stated the obvious.

"Very convincing argument."

The death glare was back. "Because he wouldn't have. I told you already, he's not like that."

"And I ask again. Not like what? He is a teenage male who, for whatever reason, appears to find you attractive." David looked at him skeptically and quickly went on before Blaine could punch him. "Consider the facts. He likes you. It was his idea to go parking. He was as much a part of that makeout session as you were. And we've already established that it would be simpler to climb into a person's lap than lift someone into yours."

"But... I'm..."

"I rest my case."

Blaine gawped at David and turned to Kurt, hoping the answer would be written there across his brightly colored shirt. Kurt smiled, but no answer was forthcoming. "I don't believe it," Blaine mumbled.

"Me either. What does he see in you?"

After a quick check to make sure his lifeguard boyfriend wasn't watching, he shoved David into the pool and put on an innocent smile.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

"I don't believe it," Blaine continued muttering sporadically to himself for the rest of the day. And by the time his shift ended that night he'd convinced himself that David's conclusion was ridiculous.

It was plainly evident that Kurt was as harmless as a newborn kitten. He was totally oblivious to his own sex appeal and probably wouldn't think of engaging in anything more than heated kisses and a bit of light petting before his college years. Blaine hoped he'd want to engage in other things by then, but was willing to wait indefinitely.

David's guess was based on his assumption that all teenage boys must be as sex-crazed as himself. But Kurt was a sweet, gentle romantic who'd never even been on a date before this summer.

"Worst wingman ever," he grumbled for the umpteenth time as he got ready for bed that night. Then he cast aside thoughts of his friend and let himself sink into the realm of fantasy, lying in bed, stroking himself to hardness in his nightly routine. "Kurt," he moaned softly while one hand moved in a slow, loose circle and the other tugged gently at the skin below.

It was Kurt's mouth in his dream this time. Pretty pink lips kissed and wrapped around him and a warm, wet tongue welcomed him with gentle swipes as Kurt learned just how he liked it. Blaine's grip tightened and sped its movements while he imagined the tongue he'd tasted so often touching his hot skin, licking him from root to tip. He dreamed of Kurt's moans when he took the head into his fantastic, hungry mouth.

Blaine let go to hurriedly lick his palm and got back to work with more and more fervent tugs. He pictured Kurt bent over him, there in his bed, a hand gripping and squeezing just right, his soft lips sliding up and down, eyes closed in blissed out need and tongue working unseen magic in his hot mouth. Then he'd look up with lust-blown eyes while his head kept bobbing, taking as much as he could get in his mouth and staring at Blaine, who arched and gasped. Thick, white, liquid strings covered his stomach and chest, but every drop was swallowed in his dream.

Eventually, he summoned the energy to clean up. Then he hugged a fluffy pillow to his chest, pretending it was Kurt he held in his arms, and kissed pillow-Kurt softly before drifting into a peaceful sleep full of dreams where a firm, lean body snuggled against him and silky hair tickled his chin.

* * *

><p>TBC again, but we're getting there.<p> 


	4. Out of the Closet

**Chapter 4: Out of the Closet**

Kurt was singing, fingers dancing over a generous selection of (primarily) men's wear while his butt shimmied to the music he had blaring. He popped out of the closet when he thought he heard a noise and went to turn the music down. A few seconds later the doorbell rang and he hurried downstairs, delighted to see Blaine when he pulled back the curtain. "Hi," he opened the door and greeted his boyfriend with a quick kiss. "Are you early or am I late? I'm not quite ready."

"Sorry." Blaine pulled a face, checking his watch. "Want me to wait in the car?"

"Don't be silly," Kurt laughed. "As long as you're here you can help me decide what to wear."

"That looks great," Blaine enthused, indicating Kurt's outfit with a wave.

Glancing down at his plain white tee, Kurt decided either Blaine was joking or he took chivalry to extremes. "Uh, thank you," he said anyway and led the way upstairs. Once in his room he headed straight for the closet and chose two shirts. "What do you think of these?" He blinked at the empty room, until he spotted Blaine standing in the doorway.

It was an average guest room in an average house, but Blaine's heart fluttered nevertheless and his feet stopped at the invisible line that would take him out of the hall and into Kurt's private domain. One hand gripped the doorjamb to ensure he didn't accidentally cross over while he absorbed everything and mentally divided it into 'spare room stuff' and 'Kurt stuff.' Sky blue, quilted bedspread – spare room; extra pillow encased in russet and ecru jacquard sham – Kurt. Lace doilies on the dresser – spare room; _Vogue_ magazine and sparkling pomegranate scented candle – Kurt.

He heard his name called, possibly not for the first time, in that voice he'd quickly come to love, and saw Kurt watching him curiously, holding up two shirts. "Are you coming in?" he was asked, and he forced his feet to stay where they were, uncertain whether they'd have gone forward or backward if allowed to move.

"Um, I don't know. Is your aunt home? Your room is nice. I mean, your aunt's room. Spare room. Your bedroom. Maybe I should wait downstairs. Both of those shirts look good. You'd look great. In either one." An inner voice that sounded a lot like David told him now would be a fine time to shut up, so Blaine stopped talking and one foot came unstuck, scraping backwards a few inches on the hall carpet. He really looked forward to the day he could be around Kurt without gibbering or bumbling. He glanced toward the stairs and debated taking his chances getting back down them in one piece. With his feet clearly thinking for themselves at the moment, it was iffy at best. But before he could make up his mind or give his feet a stern talking to, Kurt was putting the shirts away and walking toward him.

"Blaine," Kurt soothed down the flash of panic in his boyfriend's eyes. He smiled warmly and watched it begin to fade. It came and went in spurts, and then Blaine would be himself again. Kurt's hands rested on his shoulders and slid down his arms, twining fingers with one hand and gently peeling the other from the wall while he spoke softly and maintained eye contact. "Relax. You can come in. My aunt's at work and I won't bite."

"But. We shouldn't–"

Kurt stepped closer for a slow, gentle kiss, then walked backward, pulling Blaine steadily into the room. "We're fine. Don't worry. We're alone together all the time, aren't we? This is no different."

It felt different. Blaine's glance kept landing on the bed in his efforts to look anywhere else. After what happened in the car, he didn't completely trust himself and they'd never had _this_ much privacy before. He moved a little faster toward the closet, angling away from the roomy and comfortable looking mattress, covered in linens that probably smelled like Kurt, and smothering questions he couldn't ask, such as which side he slept on and why he needed three pillows. Blaine had three pillows too, one of which was solely for cuddling purposes.

They reached the walk-in closet and Kurt backed through the door, towing his boyfriend along until they were safely inside and Blaine could examine his new surroundings rather than the layout of the bedroom furniture. He seemed to calm somewhat, despite their being in a much smaller space, and Kurt rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek before returning to the serious business of fashion and all its myriad choices.

After a few minutes of closet time, which involved listening to Kurt's intricate knowledge and history behind each piece currently under consideration, Blaine was relaxed again, talking and laughing easily. Music played in the background and they occasionally joined in, their voices blending in a natural harmony that only reinforced Blaine's opinion that they were perfect for each other.

Kurt enjoyed the sing-along but found it impractical to discuss clothing at the same time. Easier to model. So, after pushing Blaine into the bedroom to sit in the desk chair facing the closet, he disappeared briefly into its depths and strode back out purposefully, walking circles around Blaine, showing off an outfit before scampering back out of sight for a hasty wardrobe change and repeating the process.

While Kurt played to his audience, Blaine cheered him on, thoroughly enjoying the show – though paying little attention to the clothes. His worries were a memory and his limbs moved when told, and he made a game of reaching for his twirling, posing boyfriend from the confines of the chair. Kurt muttered about handsy fanboys and evaded the grasping fingers every time.

Almost every time.

Eventually, he became bold. Or careless. Or willing. Then he was caught. And hauled onto Blaine's lap for a fitting punishment to the crime of teasing him mercilessly. Kurt submitted to the capture with dignity and grace, if not repentance, and didn't try _too_ hard to escape.

Arms tightened around Kurt's trim waist to lock him in place and Blaine's head tilted up to catch the lips hovering over his own. It was only natural then, for Kurt's arms to snake around his neck and fingers to tangle in his hair, just like it was only natural for Blaine to moan pleasurably and push his tongue between the parted lips he'd caught for himself. It would have been pointless for his prisoner to struggle against the unbreakable bonds surrounding him. Kurt must have known that and accepted the inevitable. He probably deserved a reward for good behavior.

"Blaine." The whisper against his lips seemed to carry and move along with the tongue drawing little circles on his jaw and lower. He could see blurry shadows through his lashes when his eyes opened what little he could manage, and his head angled to the side and dropped back against the chair in answer to the voice. It must have been the right answer because the warm, moist tip of the tongue making art on his skin became surrounded by a hot, suctioning mouth. An impatient mouth that restlessly explored more and more of Blaine's neck, vibrating against his throat in soft sounds that slipped from the captive like helpless confessions of want.

The hands in his hair weren't stationary either and would alternately slide down to grip his shoulders and scratch along the top of his back, before returning to clutch his hair again in an endless search for something. Blaine wanted to help the hands find what they sought, what they seemed to need. If only he knew what it was. If only lethargy didn't slow and dull his ability to understand and answer the need. If he wasn't impossibly distracted by the feel of warm, smooth skin under his own hands, causing him to continuously gain and lose ground on the problem. But he was distracted. And the skin was warm. And smooth. And too hard to reach with the fabric pulling against the backs of his hands; trapping them where he wanted to touch, yes, but also blocking further investigation. His low groan explained all that.

It worked. His problem was heard and, faster than he could bemoan the loss of hot mouth and searching hands, they were back on him, the blockade was gone, and he was free to roam more satin skin. He sank into the bliss of doing just that.

"Blaine?" The question was phrased more urgently this time and he couldn't answer with a tilt of his head, because it was already back as far as the chair would allow, and he couldn't think how else to reply. Unless. If his hands curled just so, scraping against the skin instead of merely running up and down the ridges of the spine. But, no. The vibrations against his throat weren't satisfied. That wasn't it then. He could only offer a confused, apologetic noise that relayed his wish to help and asked for clearer direction.

Once more, the message got through to his mind-reading prisoner, who had probably suffered enough and earned his freedom a dozen times over by now. But the down-side, Blaine was learning, to giving in to these never-ending questions, was the repeated removal of mouth and hands from his person, and this time he was quicker to complain about it. Unfortunately, his objection was overlooked. Worse, his captive escaped altogether before his proper release could be arranged. Blaine's arms must have slackened in their grip, failing in their appointed duty and costing him one warm, supple body and all its resultant contact with his various parts.

He only had time to clench his eyes and teeth in preparation for a vicious, internal bout of self-blame and name calling when his escape-enabling hands were taken and used to pull him unwillingly to his feet. At which time he discovered he'd lost all feeling in his legs and fell forward in an ungainly heap, to be caught by sturdy, welcoming arms.

The press of a hard body against his coincidentally needy one was well timed and helped make up for the thousands of needles that chose that moment to begin piercing his legs. But then his face fell forward and his gasping mouth came in contact with an undoubtedly bare shoulder. After that, the needles could do their worst. He was above feeling pain or shame that he was a dead weight, captured in turn by his former detainee.

Blaine quickly retracted the thought that he was above pain as he was half-dragged, half-carried across what might have been a jagged coral reef based on the stabbing agony in his feet. Luckily for him, his rescuer-slash-abductor soon found a soft place to lay him down and was even kind enough to lift the twitching legs that again refused to obey simple commands, stretching him out where he could recover in relative comfort. But any kindness in the act was shortly wiped out by cruel massaging hands on his thigh that made his his eyes fly open and his teeth unclench to let out a sharp cry.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

The sight that met his eyes was one he'd never forget. Kurt, shirtless and leaning over him, the muscles of his outstretched arms shifting under taut skin in concert with the squeezing Blaine could feel on his leg. His ability to rise above pain was confirmed. Either that or Kurt had banished the needles, because he couldn't feel anything but healing hands; fingers gripping and loosening in a repetitive motion down one leg and up the other.

Guilty, worried eyes met his when the second leg was done. Then Kurt straightened and Blaine was given the gift of an unobstructed and fairly close-up view of the flawlessness that had nearly caused him to drown once before.

He tried not to gape. It was a bad habit he'd picked up this summer and some might consider it impolite, as David was fond of reminding him. He also needed to stop ogling Kurt's body like the animal he'd become, even though he really wanted to fall at Kurt's feet and climb his way up.

Skin like that needed to be tasted. That much was indisputable and Blaine felt sure Kurt would understand, but he couldn't drag his eyes high enough to see the understanding just then. There were two pink dots against a silken, ivory expanse. Hands, eyes and mouth all wanted to know them better, and so far only eyes were getting their wish. But the lighter pink flush washing over pale skin was beautiful too and, while the bulk of Blaine's body lay immobile, his arms at least followed orders to reach out and beckon. That was, thankfully, an effective method of bringing Kurt closer as hands joined his automatically and didn't fight the gentle pull.

Kurt sat, perching himself next to Blaine and allowing himself to be tugged closer still, bent forward, so his forearms were on Blaine's chest and bronzed hands could slide up to his shoulders and around. Kurt's back was as smooth and supple as the foggy impressions Blaine's mind could dredge up and he looked into clear blue-green eyes, inches from his, with a sense of amazement and suspended belief.

"Did I take off your shirt?" Blaine asked. He could never reconcile the facts with his memories from the car incident and he didn't want there to be any doubt this time. Holding a wonderfully topless Kurt in his arms, he was forced to acknowledge that David's conclusions might not have been _completely_ ridiculous.

The deep blush that appeared in response to his question was irresistible and one of Blaine's hands glided up Kurt's back to his nape, continuing around until he could touch a rosy cheek and feel the heat under his skin. He waited and finally Kurt's head gave a tiny shake while his eyes seemed to ask forgiveness and understanding. Blaine's soft smile gave that and more, and his hand moved back to Kurt's nape to pull him down for a thorough demonstration.

Strangely, Blaine's awareness stayed with him this time. It was faint, but there. Awareness of the touch of hands and mouth on him reminded Blaine of the question whispered earlier against his throat, and of the seeking fingers on his back that would curl briefly into his collar before continuing their quest. What had been beyond him then was clear now, so he left off stroking Kurt's back long enough to clasp his hands and guide them down toward the hem of his own shirt. Kurt's gasp sucked up all of Blaine's air and he had to break the kiss to gulp in more. But that was okay, because Kurt didn't let the separation go to waste. He used it to heave Blaine's shirt up, ignoring the difficulties caused by him lying on his back, and tugging persistently until it came free. Then the hands were on him again, but they'd gentled and slowed, along with Kurt's gaze, to slide over every inch of his chest, avoiding only Blaine's nipples. He saved those for last.

Blaine was entranced for a minute by the look on Kurt's face. Not long enough to miss his chance to send fingers skimming across a pale chest. Pink dots, on closer inspection, were soft and responsive, and stiffened quickly when thumbed over, and held a mystical power over Blaine. So much power that his hands went from a gentle exploration of Kurt's chest to a strong grip on his sides without conscious decision. And Kurt went from sitting on the edge of the bed to lying flat on his back with Blaine leaning over him. Then Kurt was able to enjoy stroking his hands down a muscled back while his mouth was ravished.

The touch of bare chests together was a revelation to both. Better than they'd imagined. Blaine would later laugh at the memory of David's blindness to the attraction of Kurt's body. But for the time being, his friend didn't enter his mind. There was only Kurt, sucking on his tongue, pulling him closer, trembling and quaking, with legs opening and closing involuntarily and hips rising fractionally, begging to be pressed back down. Which they were, when one of Blaine's legs slipped between thighs that gripped him and didn't let go.

Fingernails made their first grooves in Blaine's shoulders and the kiss was broken again when Kurt arched into him, his head falling back and the tendons of his neck straining. The hard, unmistakable length grinding against Blaine's hip stole his breath, and his head dropped onto Kurt's shoulder, while panting, keening moans interspersed with his name and a plea to not stop sent the demands of Blaine's body spiraling upward from the level of 'want please' to somewhere past 'must have right now!' Then he was driving his own hardness against his boyfriend, rubbing and thrusting in rhythm with Kurt's quickening pace. Until rhythm and control slipped away, replaced by a fervor of motion set to a litany of breathless incomprehensibles for the short time it took to lose themselves completely, holding each other tightly through it all.

**xxxxxXxxxxx**

The room was bright and music still played in the background, Blaine eventually noticed. He still lay heavily atop his boyfriend, whose tightly wrapped arms indicated he was fine there. He didn't plan to argue and showed his willingness in the form of little kisses along Kurt's shoulder and down his throat. He wasn't sure what to say. What was an appropriate conversation starter after your boyfriend has turned your blood to molten lava and melted your brain? 'Thank you' was inadequate. 'I love you' might come off as insincere, spoken in the heat of the moment. And Blaine definitely didn't want Kurt to doubt him when he said that. The kisses turned to nibbles while he pondered, until a deep sigh from below made him smile.

"That was the single best experience of my life," Kurt broke the silence, voicing the thought that kept running through his head like a mantra. He arched his neck slightly to help Blaine along his chosen path. "We're cuddling," he whispered. "I hoped there'd be cuddling."

Joy and laughter flared inside him and Blaine tried to express it by squeezing his boyfriend tighter. "I'm definitely pro-cuddle." He smiled broadly into Kurt's skin. "If you had turned out to be anti-cuddle, that might have been a deal-breaker," he teased.

"I hope that means you won't cuddle and run."

Blaine lifted his head to look at Kurt and try to read his expression. "Did you think I would run?"

"No." Kurt smiled and tenderly stroked his cheek. "If I thought that, we wouldn't be here. But, since we are here, I'm glad my faith in you wasn't misplaced."

"We haven't been dating long enough for what just happened to have happened, but I'm not sorry it did. I want to be with you. I want us to stay together for a very long time," Blaine said truthfully. Forever counted as a very long time. He resumed the nibbling kisses, trailing them over Kurt's jaw to his deliciously sweet mouth. "How long can we cuddle before we have to clean up?"

"Approximately ten minutes," Kurt answered easily. "You've got about two left." He chuckled against Blaine's lips and pressed forward to put the minutes to good use.

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I hope the ending wasn't too abrupt. I could follow them through their happily ever after, but other stories want to be written while this one has been fighting me. Grr. Suffice it to say they take it slow and Blaine gradually overcomes his Kurt-induced blitheringness to be the confident, hyperactive, furniture-dancing-on guy we all know and love.

Thank you everyone, for the sweet reviews! Sorry if I haven't replied yet. I'll get on that!

There's one more chapter, as you've probably noticed, but it's not an epilogue. It's a companion piece. You might remember in the last chapter that David said, "Buh ah haf moor!" Well, the next chapter is for him, and for incorrigible wingmen everywhere.


	5. Inappropriate and In Rhyme

_Flaming Wingtips  
>A Collection of Rhymes and Travesty of Words<br>_by  
>David<p>

* * *

><p>o.O<p>

I'd go anywhere for you, trudge through snow, sleet or rain.  
>And give anything to you, be it rope, whip or chain.<p>

o.O

You're sweet and you're smart and you honestly get me.  
>But my friends are all screaming, "Just hit it already!"<p>

o.O

Someday in our own home, with our own rooms and halls,  
>I'll make you scream so loud, we'll rattle the walls.<p>

o.O

Your hair is like sable, your skin alabaster.  
>I'll clutch onto both while you beg me, "Go faster!"<p>

o.O

You're good and kind hearted, and you'd never cause pain.  
>But when you're a bad boy, I'll break out my cane.<p>

o.O

I will guard and protect you. All your faults, I'll embrace.  
>And I'll say, "Pretty please," when I come on your face.<p>

o.O

You're a credit to skin care and to fashion design.  
>And those hickies I put on your neck look just fine!<p>

o.O

From the moment I saw you, I knew there was no going back.  
>All I want is to hold you and stick my tongue in your crack.<p>

o.O

Your skin is like satin. Your eyes, how they glitter.  
>I will love you forever, even if your spunk's bitter.<p>

o.O

Your eyes are so lovely, and your lips are like wine.  
>I'ma grab your sweet ass and yell, "Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!"<p>

o.O

All our time spent alone has excited and thrilled me.  
>Is your dad a large man? 'Cause he's sure gonna kill me.<p>

o.O

Love's like a rare gem stone. Never thought I'd unearth it.  
>Grit your teeth now. This might hurt a lot, but it's worth it.<p>

o.O

You must know I love you. By word, look and deed I have shown how.  
>But I'm out of rhymes here. So please, can we fuck now?<p>

o.O

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Ta-da! He really did have more. XD

Hope you liked it! xoxo


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